On the poles of ink and sepia, the dark moors whisper secrets at dusk. Let the mind wander through the logical:
E = mc^2 ÷ (dappled shade) + (82 leaves in the wind)
Probability = 47 sheep ÷ 3 kings
2 nights = 1 strange song + (moon fragments × 0.5)
Here, equations are but echoes of nature's design, whimsical thoughts like threads in the moorland sky.
The path meanders underfoot, marked by the rare shadow of a solitary raven. Each step resonates like:
1 footstep = (certainty of stars) - (cloud cover)
2 rabbits on a hill = (calmness) ÷ (coyote's dance)
As the night weaves its tapestry, the stories of the moors unfurl in gentle sighs, narrating tales only heard by the soul.